Wings and a Prayer
by AtHeart150
Summary: Nesta and Cassian - One shot Set after A Court of Frost and Starlight.


Wings and a Prayer

Nesta and Cassian – One Shot

Disclaimer: I do not own A Court of Thorns and Roses Series. They solely belong to their amazing creator Sarah J Maas. I just tweak them.

An intervention, that's what it had been. Plain and simple. Feyre had organized an intervention and Cassian had known all about it when he came to collect her that morning and said nothing to her. All those glorious word about protecting her, giving up his life to keep her safe. "Ha," Nesta laughed out loud then "Liar" she whispered and a single tear rolled down her cheek. Now she was stuck in the Gods Damn Illyrian training camp with no way off the Gods forsaken mountain. She hadn't see Cassian since the first day she arrived. Almost a month ago. Not a word passed between them as he flew her up here. Held her in his arms the entire way too. He took her straight to the kitchens and introduced her to Marita, the female in charge, then turned and left. That was it. Nothing more. No snarky exchange. No advice. No telling her to be careful or to let him know if she needed anything. Not even one of his usual pathetic, puppy dog faces before he turned to leave. That was alright. She was ok with that. She shot him an offensive gesture just before Marita shoved her through the dining hall door. She'd gotten the last word, or finger in this case, though it hadn't made Nesta feel any better when she did it.

Azriel, he was a different story. Nesta saw him almost daily. He arrived just as her two hour training sessions began, standing aloof and yet stalwart, watching her every move. The fact that Azriel was there watching, was an understood show of protection. It spoke volumes to those at the camp. It marked her, and the females took advantage of being allowed the chance at teaching her a lesson, under the guise of sparing. Just about every one of them wanted a go at her. Even marked as she clearly was, it gave her a little comfort to know he was there; that he would step in only if the need arose. Unlike Devlon. She knew the camp's commander would let the others kill her, if he could get away with it. The possibility of Rhysand's wrath was the only thing that kept him in check. He used her as the teaching dummy. He let her be the proverbial whipping post for the other females to practice on. She was weaker, far less tactical than the others and had very little skill with the fighting sticks. He shouted encouragement to the Illyrian females sparing against her. He'd bark out instructions or corrections to them, as they fought her. He allow them seconds longer against her so they could get in an extra strike or two as well. Devlon always made sure she came away with the most bruising. If she left bleeding or with a limp, he'd smile and the female that gave it to her received an extra ration at dinner. Azriel never called foul on her behalf. He made it clear he would not interfere unless she was in a life threatening situation. She understood. That his interceding on her behalf would only make things worse for her. The instant the session was over he'd disappear, leaving only a puff of black smoke in his wake. He never spoke to her. Never asked how she was doing or if she needed anything, either. Nesta knew that Elain was behind Azriel's visits, that he only came because her sister asked him to... perhaps a promise to watch out for her. That's alright, she shot him dirty gestures as well, sometimes while he was still watching her. He never smiled when she did thought, just turned and left. Almost like she had dismissed him. She sighed, however grateful, safe in the knowledge she was not completely isolated up here. Azriel was at least watching out for her. To Nesta, it spoke less about his worry over her safety, and volumes as to the Illyrian's devotion to her sister.

 _S_ he knew she was screwed, she muttered to herself as she washed, yet another huge cooking pot. _FFFuuuuckkk_ she just wanted to let loose and scream. Although, if she was being total honest with herself, had she known that it would get under Feyre's darling mate's skin, that Rhysand would have retaliated like he did when she charged that crazy expensive bar tab to Feyre's account, she would have done it long ago. Nesta had counted on it irritating Feyre, it was an added bonus that her very smug brother-in-law got his panties all in a twist over it as well. She smiled. It was pretty funny, she thought as a small laugh escaped her lips. She could tell he was really pissed off about it too. Feyre even had to call her husband to heel at the meeting; had told Rhys and Amren both to zip it or she'd make them leave the room. It had been awhile since Feyre had actually stood up for her, but finally her baby sister had, if only for that one split second, shielded her from this collective of Fae they were now ensconced with. She'd take the point, even a half-assed earned one. Score one for Nesta, or so she thought until she noticed Cassian's grim face staring at her. That had wiped the self-congratulatory smile right off her face. It had kept her quiet and conveyed the seriousness of her situation.

Amren had been a bit of a surprise. Nesta had thought she might have been on her side, at least a little. Might have even come to her defense... except they were no longer on speaking terms, not since the party on the river barge at the end of summer. They barely acknowledged each other when either entered a room now.

Cassian, her self-proclaimed protector, might have fought for her. She had thought it a possible reason why he had chosen to sit across from her, so she could see a friendly face through the meeting. But he was now the very reason she was here, high in the Illyrian Mountains at some training camp. Devlon barked orders at her for two hours a day. The other twenty two hours, she spent in sheer misery, between the kitchen and dormitory females. She was fairly certain she could do nothing right. 24/7. Rain or sunshine or snow. Two days ago it had snowed, lightly and then melted by noon. The ground was a muddy mess because of it and the female's practice had been canceled. Lucky Nesta got to clean bathrooms all afternoon, with a toothbrush. At least everyone left her alone.

At the end of the intervention, Azriel and Cassian had physically flown her here. No one had fought for her. No one had asked her opinion or what she wanted. That's alright, Nesta had a standing rule for survival- never forget and absolutely, never forgive. She now, absolutely understood where she stood in this collective of Feyre's inner circle. Of course they would all side with their High Lady. Nesta had noticed that the only one that would have been on her side, Elain, was decidedly missing from the little family gathering. That would explain where Mor and Azriel were, as well. Probably distracting her, so she did not know what their baby sister and her mate, were doing to her.

So here she was, training with the Illyrian females. Talk about knocking her self worth to an all new low. The lowest of the low were treated better than she was. Well, all the females had to work in the kitchen, 2- 4 hours of training in the morning, after breakfast, then back to cleaning, cooking and sewing for the rest of the day. Winged, sword swinging cooks and maids, that's what Nesta called them, mostly behind their backs, though occasionally to their faces. She reminded herself that she was at least one step lower. She didn't have wings and with out them, she would always be less.

She was not getting off this Gods forsaken mountain without someones help. And right now, everyone treated her like she had the plague. None of the females would practice or talk with her, let alone help her escape.

And the males, well they were almost worse. She had peaked the interest of more than a few of the Illyrian males, sexually speaking that is. She could smell it on them as she served them in the dining hall. She also knew Cassian would kill any one of them that tried to lay a hand on her, even if she was willing. So she had no problem flirting back, especially if she thought Cassian might come around. Let him see, as she could, the want their eyes; the way they watched her move as she walked away. They would smell the air as she passed, trying to get a whiff of her. She knew they only wanted to try her, to taste her and see what it would be like; if she was somehow different. If only for the sole purpose of knowing they had taken what their _fearless leader_ wanted but had never obtained. She'd allow them to screw her, maybe more than once, if they'd take her down the mountain. Wouldn't that just piss Cassian off, she smiled to herself. So far, for the last four weeks, all the flirting had amounted to nothing. Not a one of them had the balls to talk to her outside the dining hall, let alone bed her.

Since coming to Velaris, Nesta had used sex as a way to release her anger, her anger at all of this. Of what had been done to her and what was left of her family - Elain. Angry about her total lack of control over herself, her life and her sister's fate. It all started with Feyre, for Feyre was the one that created this whole mess. She had always been the strong one, the one that was going to get out of that shit hole of a life they had. Then that Gods forsaken Fae, Tamlin, took Feyre, fell in love with her, and bought her love by providing the Archerons with the lifestyle that at least Elain should have had but their father, and mother squandered away. If that wasn't enough for Feyre, she had to go and screw that up too, for everyone. Bad enough she had been turned into Fae herself but now their father was dead and Elain and she were stuck in these horrid, immortal bodies as well. By the Cauldron, she was pissed.

The sex was also a way to keep Cassian in her life, though she'd never admit it to anyone. Even in the beginning, when she was human, she had been strongly attracted to Cassian, though she told no one. There was something about him. Yes, he was gorgeous. Tall, dark, handsome and in possession of a quick, sharp wit that had bested her's more than once. When Nesta looked at him, she found herself mesmerized by his chiseled face adorned with the most amazing brown eyes, pointed ears peeking out from under long ebony black hair, a strong, straight nose and a smile, that when he turned it on her, made her body quiver like she was standing naked in the snow. His body rippled with muscles she could easily see when he wore the form fitting leathers. She had dreamt over and over about the touch of his lips on her neck, making her purr at the memory and wet with desire.

While his wings healed after being so badly damaged trying to protect Azriel from the King of Hybern, Nesta had hoped her feelings for him would be enough to inspire him to live but she quickly learned she would never be enough for the Illyrian Warrior. He had been so resolute, so sure he was never going to fly again, that the damage to his majestic wings might possibly be beyond repair and without his beloved wings, he would rather die. Her love would never fill that void or be enough for him. She knew she had to find a way to make him want to wake up in the morning. She could not loose him to this. She would not. So she would sit with him while he convalesced at the town house and they delved into the comfortable routine of sniping and word sparing to keep him alive and she gradually hardened her heart to him.

Yet when the King of Hybern had almost killed Cassian, right in front of her, without thought to her own safety, she had thrown her body over his, to offer what little protection she could. She knew he understood what the gesture implied... she would rather die with him, than live without him.

And so that's how the drinking began. Nesta found solace in it, and the sleeping with strange, Fae males just seemed to naturally followed. Bedding the High Lord's sister-in-law was considered quite a coup to most of them, so one had let slip while drunkenly trying to woo her. There was certainly no shortage of eager and willing volunteers, though some were more than just a little afraid of the rather large Illyrian Warrior that often followed her home after a late night of drinking. Cassian would still be quietly perched on the roof, like a gargoyle, as the night's entertainment left with the morning's light. A strangers attentions were better than watching longingly through the window, as her hearts desire drank and danced with his friends at Rita's, though she never saw him leave with any of the females that openly flirted with him. She closed her eyes and cursed herself under her breath.

When she moved out on her own, she made herself several rules to guide her into this new life of hers _:_

 _never bed the same male twice_

 _never form any kind of attachment_

 _never accept any money for the experience, no matter how destitute she was_

 _never allow them to leave until morning (she did not like being alone in the apartment)_

 _never allow them to bath or eat in her apartment_

 _never, ever bed an Illyrian Warrior_

And so Cassian and Nesta had never managed to get passed their dance of insults. She had always thrown up her protective shield and battled him with insults rather than risk the chance of his refusing her if she declared her true feelings for him. To have him as an enemy was better than not having him at all.

No. And now she was stuck here in the Illyrian Mountains until she found a solution to her problem. She frowned and snorted. She'd show them. She might be here for now but she'd find a way down off the mountain, and soon. Where she'd go, she had not quite worked out. Using Lucian to take her to Tamlin had been an idea she was working on. Maybe she and Tamlin could commiserate over drinks. Whatever she did, where ever she ended up, she'd make Feyre and Cassian pay when she did. So for now she'd keep a low profile and did what she needed to do to survive.

Nesta finished scrubbing the last pot. She had taken all her frustrations out on the greasy black mess of metal and had scoured them for so long and so hard the pots almost gleamed like they were diamond. She straightened and wiped the sweat and loose strands of wet hair from her face with her forearm, her hands being covered in scoured scum. She noticed the quiet instantly. She looked around the kitchen and realized all the other females were gone. The kitchen was completely empty except for a few of the older females. The females she was training with were all absent. Shit. She had been so lost in her thoughts, she'd forgotten the time. The others had left without her. Nesta really was not surprised. She quickly ran up to the dormitory, to the space where she slept, changed into her fighting leathers and ran for the training ring.

Devlon was waiting for her, arms folded across his chest. Glaring. "Where do you think you are going, female?" He demanded. His second in command and some other Illyrian flunky Nesta did not recognize, flanked him on either side, wearing idiotic grins on their faces.

"To practice." Nesta replied and continued toward the ring where the females were practicing hand to hand combat. _Walk_ she told herself. _Walk_ as she fought the urge to run. _Be calm, show them no fear_ she chanted in her mind. The second and the flunky moved and blocked her path.

Nesta stopped and turned to face Devlon. "Call off your bats," she demanded with a smile that could have been mistaken for a snarl. "I'm already late for training."

"By arriving late, you forfeit your practice time for today, female. Go back to the kitchens and make yourself useful." Devlon ordered. "I suggest you arrive on time in the future."

Nesta might have, with restraint, offered up the fact that she had been assigned to cleaning the pots and pans, which took her a little longer than the rest of the females, but she would not give him the satisfaction of an volunteered excuse. The curl of the camp commander's lip into the start of a smile, nudged the edge of her limited patience. Gods, she hated her life on these infernal mountains. She absolutely hated the Illyrian males egos.

There was no question of her tone when she walked into the camp commander's personal space and growled, "I am going to training today, late or not. I have a right to. I have earned it. I only receive two of the four hours you begrudgingly offer to females as it is, and because I don't have wings, I cannot participate in the two hours set aside for flying lessons. So if you will please heel your goons, I will be on my way."

Cassian would have laughed at her, given her a quick retort and one of his amazingly annoying half smiles. He might have even continued their snarky exchange as he walked her to the practice ring. But this wasn't Cassian. And Devlon, well Nesta had grossly underestimated how much he disliked training females, and perhaps her in particular. Maybe this guy had an issue with Cassian, or even Rhysand, she wasn't even aware of. She would probably never know. But she had pushed a button on Camp Commander Devlon when she stood up to him. She had hit that button pretty damn hard, she'd guess, from his reply.

"What did you just say to me? _"_ He fairly roared at her. His eyes, they shifted from one of _general disregard_ to _infuriated_ in the span of the statement and he closed the _in your personal space_ Nesta had created to _in your face_ with the remaining half a step he took. She could smell what he had eaten for breakfast when he uttered "Mongrel" in her face, splattering her with spittle as he did.

If Nesta wouldn't back down to Cassian, she most assuredly would not back down to this overgrown, self-righteous bat. The only one of these Illyrian Males that could shake her to her senses, simply with a sentence or a look, was her sister's mate, Rhysand, and as to whether that was a good or a bad thing, he was nowhere to be seen now, to put a stop to her ire.

Nesta was not going to back down from this flying rat. No, she decided in a split second. She stood her ground, threw her shoulders back and her chin up and let the fool have it, both barrels. "What did you just call me?" she asked, then without waiting for him to repeat the insult she added "In a book I recently read on leadership, from Rhysand's personal library, it advised that to earn the respect of ones troops, a leader should lead by example. It also added that insults should never be used; that they were destructive to troop moral" she stated with ice in her voice as she stared at the commander.

"Mongrel." Devlon had no problem spitting the word out again. "Why don't you just crawl back into that pot that created you and your sister. You aren't Illyrian, with or without wings. You never will be. You have no business here, I don't care who brought you. At least your sister knows her place." Devlon sneered, elongated canines barred. "I heard, at least she is easy on the eyes." As his eyes scanned Nesta head to toe, implicitly implying she wasn't. "Perhaps some Fae will take pity on your sister, make her his consort." Silently confirming she was not even worth marrying.

"How dare you talk about Elain like that, you bastard." Nesta screamed with rage. Her hands tensed into fists, taunt with wrath. That's when she lost control; her temper got the best of her. "Take that back," she snarled. The second the words left her lips, she lashed out at the camp commander before anyone could stop her. She threw a punch, right to his head. Devlon easily dodged her poorly executed attempt to strike him, by simply shifting his shoulders. Missing him completely, her momentum carried her forward and she found herself on the ground, at the man's feet.

The entire team of females and their trainers stopped training to watch as the conflict began to unfold before them.

Totally unaware, Devlon turned, holding up his hand to stop his aids from interfering. He looked down at Nesta, sprawled in the mud and laughed. Loudly. Worse than waving a red cape at a bull, the sound had Nesta struggling to her feet, slipping and sliding in the mud. Unable to find purchase for her feet and mud dripping down her face, leathers and hands. She realized she could not physically harm the male. She was no match for him; he was too well trained, but she could easily out think him. The neanderthal. She glared daggers at the male, hands hung at her side, dripping with mud as she tried to figure out what to do. How to kill him. How to make him pay for the insults to Elain and now the embarrassment to herself. She wiped the mud from her face and off the front of her leathers and flicked her hands at the commander. He flinched as the mud splattered him.

She laughed when he looked back at her, eyes glaring from sockets recessed in a mud splattered face.

Suddenly there was a ripping pain in her belly. Devlon had punched her, right in the gut. Devlon stepped back out of the way as she doubled over, falling to her knees, gasping for breath. She couldn't breathe. "Heep, Heep, Heep" was all the noise she managed to make as she fought for air. She was desperate to pull air into her lungs. As she fell forward, her hands caught her so Nesta was now on her hands and knees at the feet of the male she wanted to kill almost as much as she'd wanted to kill Hybern. She was fuming with anger; ready to spontaneously combust. She could feel it building inside her like a pot of water just before it reached the boiling point. So adsorbed with her anger, she failed to have the good sense to realize just how vulnerable her position was. There was another blow to her body as Devon's foot met with her ass and she shot straight forward into the muddy ground, sliding a least half a dozen feet in the mud. She was left infuriated, embarrassed and completely defenseless, face down in the sludge. Where was Azriel when she needed him she asked herself as she curled her body into a fetal position in an attempt to protect herself against the next assault she knew would be coming. Her eyes squeezed shut. She sounded like a fish out of water, gasping for breath.

Without warning, there was suddenly a blinding pain, running down her spine, starting at the base of her neck and ending just below her waist. She snapped out of the fetal position she had holding herself in, arched her back out of the convex position into one of concave, and pitching her head back, leaving her throat completely open for attack. A scream ripped from her; a sound of pure agony.

"Now who's the mongrel, female?" He asked as he toed her in the stomach.

Suddenly she was aware of Azriel. He was nowhere, then suddenly there, standing over her. Protecting her from further retaliation.

"Rhysand will deal with you later Devlon" was all Nesta heard before another wave of pain shot through her body. This one made her curl back into a fetal position. Her mouth open to scream but there was no air in her lungs to release the sound.

"She disobeyed a direct order, then took a swing at me in retribution when I chose to reprimand her." Devlon responded with a small grin on his face. "Insubordinate to her superior officer and I taught her a lesson, that's all. A bit of discipline. I gave her a lesson in respect, a swift kick in the pants. She'll not forget her manners around me again." Devlon nodded his head, clearly proud of his disciplinary skills.

One punch from Azriel was all it would take to send Devlon flying. Azriel knew in and unclenched his fist. "What direct order might Nesta have disobeyed that made you feel obligated to knock her down and leave her thrashing in pain in the mud?"

"As I said, she refused to follow a direct order, sir." He said but wouldn't meet Azriel's forcible gaze. "She showed up late for training. I told her she was through for the day and _she_ threw a punch at me. She tried to hit me again so I returned it. She started screaming and jerking in the mud and then you showed up." Devlon met Azriel's stern gaze when he was finished. "Ask my second, if you don't believe me. That's the Gods honest truth of it. She disrespected me, in front of the troops no less, and I punished her for it."

Azriel growled. He had no time to argue, Nesta was the priority and he scooped the contorted Nesta in his arms and they disappeared in a whirl of black smoke

 _You need to get here, Rhysand. I can't explain it. You need to see this. Nesta's going to need Elain as well_ Azriel sent down the bond.

 _I'm on my way, with Cassian,_ he sent back. _Mor and Feyre are leaving the house now with Elain. Cass and I should not be too far behind them._

The cabin was nestled on a rise in the mountains of the camp, elevating it about three stories above the rest of the various buildings and tents. From the porch, he could look down on the entire facility. It helped Cassian keep track of what was going on, anytime, day or night. He could also watch as Nesta trained, without her knowledge. It was killing him not to help her, to be by her side, interact with her, train with her. He couldn't take meals at the dining hall any longer. He couldn't watch her flirt with the other soldiers. It hurt to much. Feyre had said it was necessary and he would obey his High Lady. No questions asked. And now Nesta was hurt. Once again, he had not protected her. He had failed her. He just wasn't sure how much longer his heart could take it.

Cassian landed on the front porch and quickly followed Rhysand into the main room. Both noticed the door hanging by a hinge as they entered. "Looks kicked in" Rhys commented. Feyre looked up, rose from her seat next to Mor and walked into Rhys waiting arms.

"Az kicked the door in. His arms were full of a struggling Nesta." She said to Rhys, almost apologetically. "Elain's with her but we..." and she looked at Mor and then back to her mate, "haven't been allowed to see her yet." Feyre said as she finally allowed herself to relax in Rhysand's protective arms. "Tibisha, and Elain, are in there now with Nesta" Feyre continued and motioned toward the closed bathroom door.

"At least the screaming has stopped" Mor added, looking directly at Cassian. "It was pretty bad. As soon as we arrived, Az left. Said he was going back to finish questioning Devlon. Personally, I think he just couldn't listen to Nesta's pain anymore." She cringed and shook her head.

"It's been quiet for about 15 minutes." Feyre continued. "We've hear voices, nothing louder, but no one has come out or told us anything."

Casssian moved passed Rhys and walked to the bathroom door. "I wouldn't go in there if I were you, Cassian. I tried to go in with Elain and Nesta screamed at me to get out. To leave _."_ Feyre said.

"No. She told you to go to _Hell_ , Feyre." Mor corrected.

Rhysand turned and looked at Mor curled up on the couch, a fashion magazine open in her lap. "That's what she said" Mor said as she made eye contact with her cousin. "No exaggeration."

Cassian reached for the bathroom door handle when the door pulled open. Tibisha, the healer, jerked to a stop at the sight of the Illyrian Warrior blocking her path. With the door open half-way, Cassian had a good view of one side of the bathroom. All he could see was the white walls splattered with red paint, red flecks of paint, everywhere. His eyes widened and his brow furrowed as they traveled the walls and floor. He turned to Tibisha and noticed she was wearing a generous smattering of the red, iron smelling paint. Her arms look like they had been coated with it and then wiped off, leaving them with a reddish wash to them. Suddenly his head jerked as he sniffed. Blood. Not paint. And it was most definitely Nesta's. He'd recognize her scent anywhere.

"I need to get to the kitchen, please," she implored Cassian. He stepped aside to allow her to pass. Tibisha tried to pull the door closed as she exited the room but, when it wouldn't move, she noticed the commander's hand firmly placed on the center of the door, not allowing it to move. "I don't think she's up for company, right now, sir" she whispered as she looked up at him with concern.

Cassian's eyes scanned the healer's face. It was covered in freckles... if freckles were made of blood, he amended his thought. Sprayed with blood. All sizes of droplets. Why was she sprayed with Nesta's blood? "Go do what you need to do. I will take care of what I need to do and right now I need to be in there with _her_."

The healer lowered her eyes and nodded her head, slightly. She released the door handle and quickly walked away. It was then he noticed the blood on her clothes and the towels she carried. He sucked in a breath. How much blood did a body have? He tried to remember as he straightened his shoulders and slipped inside the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

The door clicked shut. His eyes locked on Nesta immediately. She was on her hands and knees in a puddle of blood. There was more blood splatter on the wall behind her and, he noticed, on the ceiling above her. In fact, it was dripping on Nesta and the floor in several spots. He sucked in a breath again.

Nesta's head whipped up. Her eyes locked on his, darkening with anger. She rose to her knees as her left arm covered her chest and her right hand floundered, sightlessly feeling for Elain's arm. When her fingers skimmed the arm her sister extended, Nesta gripped it roughly and pulled herself up in a stand.

Cassina realized Nesta was almost naked. Her black leathers, in pieces, tossed around on the floor. _Shredded_. _No, cut,_ he corrected himself as his vision located a pair of scissors on the floor, nearby. Why? Why had the healer cut Nesta's leathers off? Why was she practically naked and bleeding.

Nesta suddenly moved, trying to straighten her stance. Her feet had slipped on blood pooling on the white, polished tile. He could tell by the skid marks her feet make in the red liquid. If it hadn't been for Elain, Nesta would have fallen. Cassian's eyes narrowed and brow wrinkled in thought. That wasn't like Nesta to loose her balance, to slip. Feyre was the clumsy one; always sporting a new bruise, his brother's mate was. Especially when she came down to breakfast. He smiled.

Nesta growled. _Growled at him,_ he realized as he pulled his thoughts back to her. She slipped again and this time, in an attempt not fall to the floor, she had to twist her body and bend at the waist. Something fluttered on her back. That's when he saw them. The answer to the butchery that had laid waste to what was once a pristine, white bathroom. Nesta had wings.

He chuckled as he approached her. She growled again and he snorted in return and said "Nesta. What have you gone and done to yourself?" He cocked his head. He could hardly wait to hear her witty retort.

"Get Out" Nesta shouted.

Cassian waited a beat, for the rest of her reply. When it was clear he was to receive no further retort, he replied, "No." Firmly, as he circled behind her. Nesta was completely naked, he noticed, except for a small pair of black, hip-hugging panties. His heart skipped a beat as he admired her ass in them. _Focus_ he reminded himself and he shifted his gaze to examine her back. The healer must not have realized what was happening. Tibisha had not made cuts in Nesta's skin to allow the eruption of the wings. Instead the wings had torn their way free, leaving the back's flesh jagged, red and swollen. Thank Gods they were fledgling wings and not full grown, adult ones. The healer would need to place stitches to help the tears heal properly. There would be scars, no question. The bathroom door opened and then closed quickly. Cassian looked over Nesta's shoulder straight into Tibisha's waiting eyes. His face crinkled into a smile and Tibisha smiled back, with an audible sigh.

"When did you realize what was happening?" He asked.

"Not until it was too late. Her leathers started to bubble and bulge. That's when I figured it out. Thank God's Elain showed up to help keep Nesta calm and found scissors for me. I was about to get a kitchen knife... I made a mess of her leathers..."

"She'll need stitches. Scars?" He asked.

"I will do the best I can. I need to clean the area and go back to the tent to get my bag."

"Tea. I think a cup of hot tea..." Elain added

"The kettle is on to boil..."

"I am right here, you know..." Nesta interrupted.

Cassian took the towels Tibisha carried and set them on the sink counter behind him, as Tibisha turned the tap on to run for hot water.

Nesta slipped again as she tried to look turn to see what Cassian was doing. Her wings flailing in her attempt to keep her balance.

Cassian moved the bathroom mat and placed it on the floor directly in front of Nesta. "Stand on that. It should keep you from slipping or loosing your balance" and he spotted her as Elain helped her step onto the rug. It was clear Nesta's sudden balancing issue was due to the wings She simply had no control over them. She lacked the development of the muscles needed to master their movements. She would learn, of that he had no doubt. He would personally see to it and smiled at her.

"Wipe that shit eating grin off your face, Bat Boy." Nesta hissed.

Cassian ignored her. "I'll clean her up, Elain, you can make the tea and that will give you time to explain this to our family out there. You have time to go back and get what you need." he said to Tibisha. "Send Feyre to find Nesta a new set of leathers" he requested of Elain. "Rhys can tell her who to get them from. Make sure that when Feyre tells them who the leathers are for, she tells them _not_ to sew the wing slits closed this time. Nesta will need them from now on." He looked straight at Nesta, grinning at her like a fool.

"Why are you so happy all of a sudden?" Nesa asked, looking up at him through her lashes. She spoke in a normal tone of voice, almost.

He just looked at her with his head cocked to the side, still grinning, ear to ear. Cassian walked to the sink and filled the bowl with warm water and wet a washcloth. He saw, in the reflection of the mirror, Elain whisper something to Nesta. With a nod of Nesta's head, Elain left with the healer. Closing the door behind them.

Cassian turned, cloth in hand, and approached Nesta. "Wings are very sensitive to touch." He began, using a soft tone. He circled her once and then moved around to her back. He stopped for a moment to take in what he saw. "Amazing, Nesta. They are beautiful." He held out his hand, with the intention of touching them, but then retracted it and said "They are just fledgling wings..."

"What does that mean?" Nesta said as she half turned to look at him.

He chuckled and met her gaze. "They are baby wings... not fully grown yet... and be glad you did not give birth to fully developed adult wings." And he smiled. He raised his hand and twirled his finger, a movement that told her to turn back around.

"No" Nesta said and she turned to face the mirror. "This way I can watch you..." and she smiled at him, a devious sort of smile. "Make sure you don't pull any of your shenanigans."

Cassian laughed. The first time in so long; he couldn't remember the last time he had. "Gods I've missed you Nesta." he said to the face reflected in the mirror. If he didn't know better, he'd say she blushed before she lowered her eyes.

He cleared the lump in his throat. "Where was I?"

"Baby Wings" was the reply.

"Ah... well, Nesta... be glad. You back will gradually strengthen as your wings grow and you will learn to control them and fly." and he began to wipe the blood and birthing membrane from the wings.

Nesta hissed at the first touch but was relaxed by the time he had finish cleaning the outside of the left. He would save the inside of the wings for last.

"How long do they take to mature?" She asked.

He walked to the sink bowl, rinsed the cloth and began to clean the right wing. Nesta hissed at the initial touch but then settled. "I don't have an answer for that. I don't suppose the healer will know either, but we can ask. Illyrians are born with our wings and they develop as we mature. Remember mine are 500 years old..." and he flared his so she could see them in the mirror.

"How long did it take Feyre's to develop?" She asked.

"Ah, well, Feyre's are different from yours as well. Feyre did not give birth to hers... Hers are part of the Magic that was gifted to her when she was made Fae. A gift from Tamlin. It's more of a shape shifting kind of thing. Not really a part of her, blood and bone, like yours and mine are. Though Rhys says they are real and quite sensitive to touch. You could ask her about it. You and your sister might share some commonalities, but I don't think your experiences will be the same." He gave her a weak grin in the mirror. He rinsed the cloth and began to wipe down her back. "This might hurt, but I need to clean where your skin has torn. Tibisha will need to place some stitches to aid in the healing." and he touched the skin next to the eruption site.

Nesta moaned and hunched her back.

"I'm so sorry sweatheart." Cassian uttered before he realized what he had said. When was the last time he had called her that? Feyre's birthday celebration? Almost a year ago? He quickly looked in the mirror.

Nesta closed her eyes when Cassian whispered "sweatheart." Her heart raced. Had he really called her that? His term of endearment for her? She lifted her head to look at him in the mirror. He was standing there, shock written all over his face...

"I know you don't mean to hurt me" she offered, watching his face in the mirror.

"I could never hurt you, intentionally." He offered in return.

They both offered tentative smiles to the other.

Cassian broke the moment and returned his focus to Nesta's back. They both need to think about where this might be headed, give them a minute to think. He wiped her neck and shoulders, noting how thin she was. He could count the back's ribs and see the bones of the spine. There was very little muscle development. He wiped her ribs and back to the top of her panties. He sucked in a breath. "I would be happy to help you work on your muscle and core strengthening, if you'd like." He tried to focus on the words rather than the area he was washing. "I know you have two hours while the other females have flight training, we could work together then." and he quickly added "if you'd like." He dropped down to his knees and washed the backs of both legs. He completed the task quickly, stood and walked back to the sink. He drained the red water and waited for the hot water to refill the bowl.

There was a knock on the door and Elain, not waiting for an answer, entered carrying a steaming cup of tea. She handed it to Nesta, winked at Cassian and left without say a word to either of them.

With fresh water and a clean wash cloth he turned to face her. "Front now." he said sternly, though it was not nearly as bloody as the back.

"You haven't finished the back yet." she reminded him. "The inside of the wings haven't been washed."

"I will save that for last," He said. "When you've finished your tea, it shouldn't bother you as much." He began to wash her face. Gently wiping every red freckle from her forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, ears and... " and he swallowed hard... her lovely red lips.

Nesta closed her eyes and released a soft sigh as he wiped her lips.

Cassian quickly moved to her long, lovely neck and shoulders. He tapped the back of one hand and looked up at the ceiling as Nesta released it hold on the mug, so that the arm covering her naked chest now held the mug as well. She cleared her throat to let him know she was settled. He avoided looking her in the eyes, and settled his focus on his work. He wiped the entire arm down, including the palm and finger tips, then raised it and clean down her side. He walked back to the bowl and rinsed the rag out while she shifted hands. When he turned back around she extended the other arm and he repeated the process. He rinsed the cloth and she handed him the empty mug when he turned back around. Cassian thought that maybe he should clean the legs next and knelt down and wiped both down. There was a little scrubbing necessary on the knees and feet but he was sure to remove all signs of blood. He stood and rinsed the cloth again.

"You certainly need to rinse the cloth out more wiping the front, than you did cleaning the back. Why is that Cassian?" She asked making eye contact with him in the mirror. She smiled as she noted that Cassian's cheeks turned red and he quickly looked back down at the sink. She giggled.

Cassian looked back up. "Did you just laugh, Nesta Archeron?" He asked her mirrored image and raised an eyebrow.

"And what if I did?" She replied as she raised her chin and straightened her shoulders. She released a hiss at the pain that erupted from her back with the movement.

"I don't think I've ever heard you laugh. Ever." He said. How sad that made him feel that he had never heard her laughed in the year and a half he'd known her. And then the pure joy that flooded his heart as he realized, _Nesta had just laughed in front of him_.

He turned. Nesta had adjusted her hands. Each hand now covered a single breast, barely. He had clear access to her chest and stomach. Nesta nervously shifted her eyes to his face and then over his shoulder to look in the mirror.

He walked forward and slowly, with great care, cleaned her chest, down between her breasts and then, crouching, wiped her abdomen. Relishing every swipe. She was so thin. But he knew they would work on that together as well.

He stood, his face mere inches from hers. "I need to finish the wings, sweetheart." and he turned and rinsed the cloth again. He stepped to her left side. "I'm going to touch the inside, where the wing is most sensitive and he ran a finger starting at the wing's tip "Second digit" he said as he set his finger down on her wing.

Nesta quietly hissed and her wing involuntarily moved.

"Carpometacarpus" Cassian whispered as he stroked the 8 inches to the wing joint. "Pollex. Kind of like a thumb" he said and paused.

Nesta started to pant when his digit caressed that joint. He knew he'd found her sweet spot and smiled.

"Nesta" he whispered, "you do make my heart soar." as he continued to stroke toward the back attachment. "Two bones here. Ulna" and he ran his finger along the larger "and Radius. This bone along the edge." Twelve full inches he stroked, twice. Once for each bone. He could feel Nesta's heart racing and listened to her ragged breathing. He closed his eyes and just listened to the sounds she made. "And the Humerus" he said as he helped her straighten her wing so she could feel him stroke the last twelve inches of wing bone until he stopped at the joint where the Humerus met the Scapula and Coracoid. _His_ Nesta was almost a puddle of molten lust, and he had not even started to clean them. He was so enjoying this.

"Sweetheart?"

Panting.

Cassian gently rested his lips on the same spot he had first kissed so long ago.

Nesta moved her head slightly, allowing him better access to _his_ spot, and exhaled softly.

He stepped back and looked at her. Her eyes were still closed, her lips slightly parted. He could feel the blood rushing to his groin. _STOP_ his brain shouted, as his fingers skimmed the first knuckle of her wing. Nesta tongue licked her lip in response. Blood was most definitely traveling South.

Suddenly, "Nesta" Cassian said.

She sucked her lower lip and bit it with her teeth.

Cassian closed his eyes. "Nesta" he said with a slightly sharper tone.

Her eyes opened as she turned her head to look at him. Sated, soft eyes. Of the most beautiful brown...

"Sweetheart," He began gently.

She blinked at him and smiled.

"What were you thinking when you first felt the pain in your back?"

She blinked again. Then her eyes focused on his face. She blinked again and her brow furrowed in thought. "Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"Because, I think the Cauldron gave you these wings. When you were angry and felt threatened. They are not Illyrian in shape or design." He watched her face as she processed the information he just gave her.

"Why would you say that? What other kind of wings are there?" She asked. Her voice not as calm or soft as it had been moments ago.

He stepped behind her and opened his wings for her to see. Illyrian wings – full and large, with scalloped edges. With an invisible hand - three finger bones and a hooked thumb at the one joint. Wings designed for power, strength and distance. A full palette of color. And when he folded them, they were tall and projected straight out the back. The thumb was the top of the sharp, angled fold and towered over his head by a foot. The lower end of the wing almost scraped the floor. Then, silently, he pulled open her wing. A baby wing, he'd told her, yet over three feet in length already. The wing was long, with a wider shoulder attachment narrowing all the way to the tip. A long straight edge, making almost two perfect triangles for wings. No scallops. No thumb. When he released it, it folded back against her body. The rounded joint barely visible above her shoulder. It wouldn't surprise him if the tips dragged on the floor when they reached maturity. A glider's wings, designed to use the wind to carry them long distances. And Black. Black as night. Black as the Cauldron. An Attor's wings.

"Why do you look so worried?" she asked the reflection in the mirror.

Cassian looked up at the face in the mirror and smiled. "I was thinking about how we would teach you to fly. Your wings are a glider's wings. They will function differently than mine." He turned her around to look at him. "That's a worry for another day sweetheart" and he kissed her nose and gave her his most winning smile. "I have other things to discuss with you before Tibisha returns with her magic bag."

"You do, do you?" Nesta said and kissed him gently on the chin.

"Yes. About that." He said looking seriously into her eyes. "I want you Nesta. Have since the first quarrel filled moment I laid eyes on you."

"Oh yeah?" Nesta said, shifting her eyes into a glare. "Is that so?"

"Yes. And I have loved you since the moment Hybern's men shoved you into that pot."

"Oh" Nesta whispered, looked at the floor and sighed.

"No. Now don't do that Nesta. I need you to look at me" and he chucked her chin up to look him in the face. "I want this, Nesta. You and me, I mean." And he waited to see what she say in reply.

"I want you too, Cass." she said.

"Cass... " he repeated. "I like that." and he grinned. He closed his eyes to clear the lust filled thoughts he was having and then opened them. Nesta was watching him. Her eyes darting all over his face. Like she was trying to get a read on where he was going with this. He grabbed both her arms just below the shoulders with his hands. "This is serious Nesta. I want this, but it must be an exclusive relationship. I won't share you. Do you understand?" He asked and watched her face.

Nesta looked at the floor.

 _Oh shit this can't be good,_ Cassian thought.

What seemed like an eternity pasted. Nesta finally looked up. "I know you know I've slept with several men. Males," she corrected herself.

"Several? That's seriously the word you'd choose?" Cassian sarcastically stated.

Nesta just glared.

"Nesta? Really? Several?"

Nesta looked down at the rug she was standing on. "Ok, Loads. Lots. Oodles. Double Digits..." and looked up to see the stupid, smug smile on Cassian's face. "Will you be ok with that? Not being my first, I mean?" She asked and stopped breathing.

"I thought I would be your first and only, when I first met you." Cassian began. "But I realize, I'd rather give up being one of the first _Oodles_ , to be the one that has you forever from here forward, Nesta Archeron." Cassian bent to kiss her. His lips halted less than a millimeter from her lips when he pulled back.

Nesta, eyes closed, lips longingly wait Cassian's first kiss. When suddenly she realized he had released her arms and had moved away. Her eyes fluttered open to find him leaning against the counter, arms folded across his chest, glaring at her.

"What?" She demanded.

"I realized you have not answered my question, Nesta. No moving forward without it, I'm afraid. No one else but me, from this moment forward. Excluding all others. Yes or No? In or out, sweetheart?"

And the door to the bathroom opened and Tibisha and Elain walked in.

"Yes, Cassian." Nesta said. "Forever."


End file.
